Bound for the darkness on a late night train,
Station bar is closed and a small light shields
100 years of death on this ride through the rain,
100 miles charging by the wet and damp fields.
Dotted here and there, a sofa shop
And a witches lair.
The clock is tick tick ticking late
And the security camera clicking, sealing the fate
Of the night in the station.
Tomorrow we could be Edinburgh, we could be Hull or Slough
Wizzing round the track past the horse and plough,
The name of a pub the conductor may be found,
They’re dreaming tripping over the track, a burning human sound
And some scarecrow’s head turns around.
The wooded path, shudder reflection, swampy sea of bricks
We find them in the darkness, in the darkness of the rain,
Station again, now I travel just for the kicks
I get from the darkness of the late night train.